Free An Eye of the Fleet by Richard Woodman

lean and strong, his formerly delicate hands sinewy with hard labour. His features remained fine drawn but there was now a touch of firmness, of authority about the mouth that had banished the feminine cast to his face. A dark shadow was forcing him to shave occasionally and his former pallor was replaced by a weathered complexion.
    There remained, however, the bright eagerness that had attracted Devaux’s notice so that he used Drinkwater when he wanted a difficult task undertaken by one of the ‘young gentlemen’. The first lieutenant had placed Drinkwater in a post of honour as coxswain of the captain’s gig. If he could afford no fancy ribbons about his boat’s crew at least Hope could have a keen young middy to swagger, dirk at his side, in the stern sheets.
    Blackmore too considered the youth the aptest of his pupils and, had it not been for the spectre of Nemesis in the form of Morris, the approbation of his seniors would have brought the keenest pleasure to Nathaniel.
    The gig danced over the water. Next to Drinkwater Hope sat in stony silence, digesting the facts that the admiral’s secretary had told him. Santa Teresa had been purchased as a prize. The court had been assembled under the authority of Rear-Admiral Kempenfelt whose purpose it was to examine the findings of Duncan’s preliminary hearing at Gibraltar. Kempenfelt and his prize court had decided that she was a very fine frigate indeed and had purchased her into the Service for the sum ofаг15,750. Captain Hope’s share would amount toаг3,937.10 shillings. After years of grinding service with little glory and no material rewards beyond a meagre and delayed salary, fate had smiled upon him. He could hardly believe his luck and regarded it with a seaman’s cynicism which accounted for his stony visage.
    Drinkwater brought the gig alongside. Hope reached the deck and the pipes twittered in salute. Every man upon the upper deck ceased work to look at the captain for some sign of news of the Santa Teresa. All they perceived was a stony face.
    So, they concluded, their worst fears were realised. Hope walked directly aft and disappeared. The eyes of the ship’s company followed the captain’s retreating back. One hundred and seventy-six men, just then occupied upon the upper deck of Cyclops were united in a moment of immobile, silent, bitter disappointment.
    Some half-hour later Drinkwater was dispatched again in the gig. Instead of the captain the midshipman had orders to convey Mr Copping, the purser, ashore. Mr Copping imparted the intelligence that he was entrusted to buy some special provisions for the captain’s table that evening and that the captain was holding a dinner for his officers. He also handed Drinkwater a letter written in the old captain’s crabbed hand. The superscription was to ‘His Excellency Richard Kempenfelt, Rear-Admiral’. Drinkwater was to deliver it while the purser attended to his purchases.
    Hope had invited all his officers, the master, gunner and the midshipmen. Appleby, the surgeon, was also present. They gathered noisily aft at three bells in the second dog watch with only the first lieutenant and Wheeler absent forming an honour guard to greet the Admiral.
    When Hope had impulsively dashed off his invitation to Kempenfelt he was in boyish high spirits. He had suppressed his mirth as he snapped orders at Copping so that that individual had left his commander with the positive belief that the worst fears of the ship’s company were realised and had lost no time in sending word forward that further optimism was futile.
    Hope saw the Admiral as the true author of his good fortune and in some way wished to acknowledge his gratitude. For Kempenfelt was a popular sea officer whose brilliance shone in an age when brains were not the qualification for flag rank. His innovations were admired throughout the fleet where thinking men discussed the handling of fleets under sail more than jobbery or place seeking. Kempenfelt